Page 59 of The Likeness

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  "Daniel,” Abby said, and I saw her whole body loosen with relief. "Thank God.”

  Rafe eased back, slowly, on the sofa. "Cute entrance,” he said coldly. "How long have you been listening at the door?”

  Daniel didn’t move. “What have you told her?”

  “She was remembering anyway,” Justin said. His voice was shaking. “Didn’t you hear? In the police station? If we didn’t tell her the rest, she was going to ring them and—”

  “Ah,” Daniel said. His eyes went to me, one small expressionless flick, and then away again. “I should have guessed. How much did you tell her?”

  “She was upset, Daniel,” said Abby. “Stuff was coming back to her, she was having a hard time dealing with it, she needed to know. We told her what happened. Not who . . . you know. Did it. But the rest.”

  “It was a highly educational conversation,” Rafe said. “All round.”

  Daniel took this in with a brief nod. “All right,” he said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Everyone’s emotions are running high”—Rafe rolled his eyes and made a disgusted noise; Daniel ignored him—“and I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by continuing this discussion right now. Let’s leave it for a few days, really leave it, while the dust settles and we take in what’s happened. Then we can talk about it again.”

  Once I and my mike were out of the house. Before I could say anything, Rafe asked, “Why?” Something in the roll of his head, the slow lift of his eyelids, as he turned to stare at Daniel: it hit me, with a vague shapeless warning, just how drunk he was.

  I saw Daniel realize the same thing. “If you’d prefer not to resurrect it,” he said coolly, “believe me, that’s fine with me. I’d be delighted never to have to think about this again.”

  "No. Why leave it?”

  “I told you. Because I don’t think any of us are in any state to discuss this rationally. It’s been an excruciatingly long day—”

  “What if I don’t give a fuck what you think?”

  “I am asking you,” Daniel said, “to trust me. I don’t often ask you for anything. Please do me this favor.”

  “Actually,” Rafe said, “you’ve asked us to do a lot of trusting you, this last while.” He put down his glass on the table with a sharp little click.

  “Possibly I have,” said Daniel. For a fraction of a second he looked exhausted, drained to the last drop, and I wondered how exactly Frank had kept him for so long; what they had talked about, the two of them alone in a room. “So a few more days can’t really do that much harm, can they?”

  “And you were listening behind that door, like some gossip-starved housewife, for long enough to work out exactly how far I trust you. What are you afraid will happen, if we keep talking about this? Are you afraid Lexie won’t be the only one who wants to leave? What will you do then, Daniel? How many of us are you prepared to kill off?”

  “Daniel’s right,” Abby said crisply. Daniel coming home had calmed her down: her voice sounded strong again, certain. “All our heads are wrecked; we’re not making sense. In a few days’ time—”

  “On the contrary,” said Rafe, “I think I may be making sense for the first time in years.”

  "Leave it,” said Justin, barely above a whisper. “Please, Rafe. Leave it.”

  Rafe didn’t even hear him. “You can believe every word he says is gospel, Abby. You can come running when he snaps his fingers. You think he cares that you’re in love with him? He doesn’t give a damn. He’d get rid of you in a heartbeat, if he had to, just like he was ready to—”

  Abby finally lost her temper. “Fuck you, you self-righteous bloody—” She shot up off her chair and fired the doll straight at Rafe, one fast vicious move; he threw up a forearm reflexively and smashed it away, into a corner. “I warned you. What about you? Using Justin when you need him—you think I didn’t hear him going downstairs, that night? Your bedroom’s under mine, genius. And then when you don’t need him, you treat him like shit, break his heart over and over and—”

  “Stop it!” Justin shouted. His eyes were squeezed tight and his hands were pressed over his ears; his face looked like he was in agony. “God, stop it, stop—”

  Daniel said, “That’s enough.” His voice was starting to rise.

  “It’s not! ” I yelled, loud enough to cut straight across everyone. I’d been so quiet the last while, letting them run with it and waiting for my moment, that all of them shut up and whipped round to look at me, blinking, as if they’d almost forgotten I was there. “It’s not enough. I don’t want to leave it.”

  “Why not?” Daniel inquired. He had his voice back under control; that perfect, immovable calm had slammed down across his face the instant I opened my mouth. “I would have thought you of all people, Lexie, would want to get back to normal as quickly as possible. It’s not like you to obsess over the past.”

  “I want to know who stabbed me. I need to know.”

  Those cool, curious gray eyes, examining me with detached interest. “Why?” he repeated. “It’s over, after all. We’re all still here. There’s been no permanent harm done. Has there?”

  Your arsenal, Frank had said. The lethal last-resort grenade Lexie had left me, passed from her hand to Cooper’s to mine; the jewel-colored flash in the dark, bright and then gone; the tiny switch that had set all this in motion. My throat closed up tight till it ached even to breathe, and I shouted through it, “I was pregnant!”

  They all stared at me. It was so quiet all of a sudden, and their faces were so absolutely still and blank, I thought they hadn’t understood. “I was going to have a baby,” I said. I felt light-headed; maybe I was swaying on my feet, I don’t know. I didn’t remember standing up. The sun streaming across the room turned the air a strange, holy, impossible gold. “It died.”

  Silence, still.

  “That’s not true,” Daniel said, but he wasn’t even looking to see how the others had taken it. His eyes were fixed on me.

  “It is,” I said. “Daniel, it is.”

  “No,” said Justin. His breath was coming as if he had been running. “Oh, Lexie, no. Please.”

  “It’s true,” Abby said. She sounded terribly tired. “I knew, before any of this even happened.”

  Daniel’s head tipped back, just a fraction. His lips parted and he let out a long breath, soft and immensely sad.

  Rafe said softly, almost gently, “You bastard fuck.” He was standing up, in slow motion, with his hands curled in front of him as if they were frozen there.

  For a second, taking in what that meant—my money had been on Daniel, no matter what he claimed to Abby—used up all my mind. It was only when Rafe said again, louder, “You fuck,” that I realized he wasn’t talking to Daniel. Daniel, still framed in the doorway, was behind Justin’s chair. Rafe was talking to Justin.

  “Rafe,” Daniel said, very sharply. “Shut up. Now. Sit down and pull yourself together.”

  It was the worst possible thing he could have done. Rafe’s fists snapped closed; he was bone white and his top lip was pulled back in a snarl, and his eyes were gold and mindless as a lynx’s. “Don’t you ever,” he said, low. “Don’t you ever tell me what to do again. Look at us. Look at what you’ve done. Are you pleased with yourself? Are you happy now? If it hadn’t been for you—”

  “Rafe,” Abby said. “Listen to me. I know you’re upset—”

  “My—Oh, God. That was my child. Dead. Because of him.”

  “I told you to be quiet,” Daniel said, and there was something dangerous growing in his voice.

  Abby’s eyes flicked to me, intent and urgent. I was the only one Rafe would listen to. If I had gone to him then, put my arms around him, made this into his and Lexie’s private grief instead of a public war, I could have ended it there. He would have had no choice. For a second I could feel it, strong as reality: his shoulders slackening against me, his hands coming up to circle me tight, his shirt warm and clean-smelling against my face.

  I didn’t move. “You,” Rafe said, to Daniel or to Justin, I couldn’t tell which. “You.”

  In my memory it happened so neatly, clean distinct steps, as if it had been cho
reographed to perfection. Maybe that’s just because I had to tell the story so many times, to Frank, Sam, O’Kelly, over and over to the Internal Affairs investigators; maybe it wasn’t like that at all. But the way I remember it, this is what happened.

  Rafe went for Justin or Daniel or both, a straight headlong charge like a fighting stag’s. His leg hit the table and it toppled, high arcs of liquid glittering through the air, bottles and glasses rolling everywhere. Rafe caught himself with a hand on the floor and kept going. I got in front of him and grabbed his wrist, but he threw me off with one huge fling of his arm. My feet slid on spilled vodka and I went down hard. Justin was up and out of his chair, hands outstretched to keep Rafe off, but Rafe slammed into him full force and they both crashed back onto the chair, skidding backwards, Justin letting out a terrified moan, Rafe on top and scrabbling for traction. Abby got one hand twisted in his hair and the other in his shirt collar and tried to haul him off; Rafe shouted and heaved her away. He had his fist pulled back to punch Justin in the face, I was coming up off the floor and somehow Abby had a bottle in her hand.

  Then I was on my feet and Rafe had leapt backwards off Justin and Abby was pressed against the wall, as if we had been blown apart by a bomb blast. The house was frozen, stunned into silence; the only sound was all of us breathing, hard fast gasps.

  “There,” Daniel said. “That’s better.”

  He had moved forwards, into the sitting room. There was a dark gash in the ceiling above him; a trickle of plaster fell onto the floorboards, with a light pattering sound. He was holding the World War I Webley in both hands, easily, like someone who knew how to use it. He had it trained on me.

  “Drop that now,” I said. My voice came out loud enough that Justin let out a wild little whimper.

  Daniel’s eyes met mine and he shrugged, one eyebrow going up ruefully. He looked lighter and looser than I had ever seen him; he almost looked relieved. We both knew: that bang had flown down the mike straight to Frank and Sam, inside five minutes the house would be surrounded by cops with guns that made Uncle Simon’s banjaxed revolver look like a kid’s toy. There was nothing left to hold onto. Daniel’s hair was falling in his eyes and I swear he was smiling.

  “Lexie?” said Justin, a high incredulous breath. I followed his eyes, down to my side. My sweater was rucked up, showing the bandage and the girdle, and I had my gun in my hands. I didn’t remember pulling it out.

  “What the hell ?” said Rafe, panting and wild-eyed. “Lexie, what the hell?”

  Abby said, “Daniel.”

  “Shh,” he said gently. “It’s all right, Abby.”

  “Where the hell did you get that? Lexie!”

  “Daniel, listen.”

  Sirens, somewhere far off in the lanes; more than one.

  “The cops,” Abby said. “Daniel, the cops followed you.”

  Daniel pushed his hair out of his face with the back of a wrist. “I doubt it’s that simple,” he said. “But yes, they’re on their way. We don’t have long.”

  “You need to put that away,” Abby said. “Right now. You too, Lexie. If they see those—”

  “Again,” Daniel said, “it’s not that simple.”

  He was right behind Justin’s chair, the high-backed armchair. It and Justin—petrified, staring, hands clamped on the armrests—shielded him to chest height. Above them was the barrel of the gun, small and dark and wicked, pointed straight at me. The only clear shot I had was a head shot.

  “She’s right, Daniel,” I said. I couldn’t even try to take cover behind a chair, not with all these civilians in the room. As long as he had the gun on me, it wasn’t on them. “Put it away. How do you think this is going to end best? If the police find us all sitting here peacefully waiting for them, or if they have to bring in a full SWAT team?”

  Justin tried to get up, feet scrabbling limply at the floorboards. Daniel took a hand off the gun and shoved him down, hard, into the chair. “Stay there,” he said. “You’re not going to get hurt. I got you into this; I’ll get you out.”

  "What do you think you’re doing?” Rafe demanded. “If you have some idea about all of us going down in a blaze of glory, you can stick it—”

  “Be quiet,” said Daniel.

  “Put down yours,” I said, “and I’ll put down mine. OK?”

  In the second when Daniel’s attention went to me, Rafe made a grab at his arm. Daniel sidestepped, fast and neatly, and elbowed him in the ribs without ever taking the gun off me. Rafe doubled over with a rough whoosh of breath. “If you do that again,” Daniel said, “I’ll have to shoot you in the leg. I need to get this done and I don’t have time to deal with your distractions. Sit down.”

  Rafe collapsed on the sofa. “You’re insane,” he said, between painful wheezes. “You have to know you’re insane.”

  “Please,” Abby said. “They’re coming. Daniel, Lexie, please.”

  The sirens were getting closer. A dull clang of metal, booming off the hillsides: Daniel had closed the gates, and someone’s car had just rammed them open.

  “Lexie,” Daniel said, very clearly, for the mike. His glasses were slipping down his nose, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I was the one who stabbed you. As the others will have told you, it wasn’t premeditated—”

  “Daniel,” Abby said, high and twisted and breathless. “Don’t do this.”

  I don’t think he heard her. “The argument broke out,” he told me, “it turned into a fight, and . . . honestly, I don’t remember exactly how it happened. I had been doing the washing up, I had a knife in my hand, I was terribly upset at the thought that you wanted to sell your share of the house; I’m sure you can understand that. I wanted to hit you, and I did—with consequences that none of us ever, for one moment, could have foreseen. I’m sorry for any and every wrong I did you. All of you.”

  Screech of brakes, rush of pebbles scattering; the sirens, howling and mindless outside.

  “Put it down, Daniel,” I said. He had to know: that I only had a head shot, that I couldn’t miss. “It’ll be OK. We’ll sort everything out, I swear we will. Just put it down.”

  Daniel looked around at the others: Abby poised ready and helpless, Rafe hunched glaring on the sofa, Justin twisted round to stare up at him with huge frightened eyes. “Shh,” he said to them, and put a finger to his lips. I had never seen that much love and tenderness and incredible urgency in anyone’s face, ever. “Not one word. No matter what.”

  They stared at him. “It’ll be all right,” he said. “Really, it will. It’s going to be fine.” He was smiling.

  Then he turned to me and his head moved, a tiny private nod I’d seen a thousand times before. Me and Rob, eyes catching across a door that wouldn’t open, an interview-room table, and that almost invisible nod passing between us: Go.

  It took so long. Daniel’s free hand coming up in slow motion, a long fluid arc, to brace the gun. An immense underwater silence filling the room, all the sirens had fallen away, Justin’s mouth was stretched wide but I couldn’t hear anything coming out; the only sound in the world was the flat click of Daniel cocking the revolver. Abby’s hands going out to him, starfished, her hair swinging up. I had so much time, time to see Justin’s head going towards his knees and to swing my gun down to the chest shot opening up, time to watch Daniel’s hands tightening around the Webley and to remember what they had felt like on my shoulders, those hands, big and warm and capable. I had time to recognize this feeling from so long ago, remember the acrid smell of panic off Dealer Boy, the steady rush of blood between my fingers; the realization of how easy it was, bleeding to death, how simple, how effortless. Then the world exploded.

  I read somewhere that the last word on every crashed airplane’s black box, the last thing the pilot says when he knows he’s about to die, is “Mammy.” When all the world and all your life are ripping away from you at the speed of light, that’s the one thing that stays yours. It terrified me, the thought that if someday a suspect got a knife to my throat, if my life shrank to one split second, there might be nothing left inside me to say, no one to call. But what I said, small in the hair-thin silence be
tween Daniel’s shot and mine, was “Sam.”

  Daniel didn’t say a word. The impact sent him staggering backwards and the gun dropped from his hand, hit the floor with an ugly thud. Somewhere broken glass was falling, a sweet impervious tinkle. I thought I saw a hole like a cigarette burn, in his white shirt, but I was looking at his face. There was no pain on it, no fear, nothing like that; he didn’t even look startled. His eyes were focused on something—I’ll never know what—behind my shoulder. He looked like a steeplechaser or a gymnast, landing perfectly out of the final death-defying leap: intent, tranquil, gone past every limit, holding back nothing; certain.

  “No,” Abby said, flat and final as an order. Her skirt fluttered, gay in the sunlight, as she leaped for him. Then Daniel blinked and crumpled sideways, slowly, and there was nothing behind Justin except a clean white wall.